
Class _r 5 Qv^O 7 
Book J iiP!> S L^ /-] 



CopiglitN"-/. 



XL- 



COfVRIGHT DEPOSrn 






A Ctttli* look of 
Amprfemt Hrrap 



3Sy 
CAROLYN B. SMITH 




Dedicated io the Soldiers, 
Sailors and Aviators of 
JJmerica and my friends 



Ammran l^ra^ 

CAROLYN B. SMITH 



Dedicated to the Soldiers, 
Sailors and Aviators of 
America and my friends 



Ammran l^txBt 



(By '/"^^ 



CAROLYN B. SMITH 



Dedicated to the Soldiers, 
Sailors and Aviators of 
America and my friends 



V 



CJopyriglht 1920 by 

Carolyn B. Smith 

(RldgefieM) iPark, N. J. 



AUG 21 1920 
C1.A597108 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

America Our Native Land 5 

Victory --- 6 

Optimism ---------- 8 

When The Boys Came Home ----- 10 

The Call of The Red Cross 12 

United Service --------14 

The Soldier's Prayer 15 

Miss Columbia — War Song ------ 17 

To An Ace - - 19 

The Knitting Brigade 20 

The European Women's War Tax ----- 21 

Easter 1919 - - - - 23 

Christmas in The Old Home Town - - - - 24 
Miss America's Gallant Boys In The Navy — War Song - 26 
A Soldier Boy's Wireless to the Girl He Left Behind Him 27 

De Profundis - - - 28 

Jeanie In The Heather -------29 

The Boy Scouts' Drive -------31 

The Imp - - 32 

Flowers To The Living -------36 

Darktown Lullaby --------37 

A Plea for Peace— Peace Sunday 1914 - - - - 38 

Discernment ---------39 

My Little Boy Allen 40 

Four Nature Songs --------41 

California 
The Deer 
The Call of May 
Autumn 



CONTENTS- Continued 

PAGE 

Theodore Roosevelt 45 

To Edison 46 

A Reading Club Poem 47 

In Memoriam — J. Whitcomb Riley - - - - 48 

The Philosophic Farmer ------ 49 

To Doris ----------51 

A Twin Lakes Idyl - - 52 

Why Women Should Vote ------ 53 

New Jersey Women's State Federation Song - - - 55 

Noel - - 56 

Thanksgiving ---------57 

The Last Score - - - -- - - - 58 

Community Meeting ------- 59 

Love __-------_ 60 

Trust 61 

Recompense ---------62 

In The Silence ---------63 

A Saint Patrick's Day Ballad 64 

Salvation ----------65 

In New York Streets -- - - - - - 67 

Reincarnation ---------68 

A Question ---------69 

Youth ---------- 70 

Independence Day --------71 

The Castle of Pain -------72 

The Berkshire Hills ' - 73 



A Little Book of 
American Verse 



Go little book of American verse 
To friends throughout the land, 
To soldiers, sailor's, airmen, all I 
I know they will understand. 
'Tis not the rhyme of a bard sublime 
But a record of things we all know. 
Things to remember when we have time- 
Spread your wing's little verses — gol 



By Carolyn B. Smith 

Author of The New Jersey State Federation 

Club Song and other songs 

Mrs. Allen E. Smith 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

AMERICA. OUR NATIVE LAND 

April 7ih 1917, when America entered the War 

America! our native land. 

Pure gold without alloy, 

Thy sons and daughters hand in hand 

Proclaim thy name with joy. 

The call of war is 'round the earth 
And yet we do not fear, 
Of men or wealth there is no dearth, 
For everything is here. 

O, glorious are our many States 
With richest wealth untold, 
Our industries shall bear the weight 
No other land can hold. 

We! give the hand of fellowship 

To those across the sea, 

Who strive to right "old world" wrongs 

By seeking liberty. 

All hail! All hail! dear Stars and Stripes, 
As through the sky you wave, 
You are a worthy emblem 
Of a land so pure and brave. 

Our national honor stainless is 
And so 'twill ever be; 
True justice dealt to all mankind 
Is making all men free. 

So let our national anthem ring 
From East unto the West, 
We welcome men from every race 
And so our land's the best. 



Five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



VICTORY 

November 11, 1918. 
The date of the Arrriistice 

Upon the wings: of the w^ind 

Th0 Nev^s, the great news has come 

Peace, Peace for the world again 

We have fought and conquered the Hun, 

Millions of battle-worn soldiers 

Shall lay down their arms to-day, 

Hoping for sight of home once more 

And loved ones far away. 



Resurgent, all ye nations ! 

Triumphant fair Liberty stands, 

Sheltering within her loving arms, 

The people of foreign lands ; 

America's young Crusaders 

Carried her over the sea, 

They bore her aloft in their brave young arms 

And died to make men free. 



Free of the selfish tyrant 

Who poisoned Europe's air, 

"Old Glory" borne in American hands 

Shall blaze the way over there. 

Those heroes, our wonderful Allies, 

Through four long weary years, 

Have fought with Spartan courage ; 

They command our respect and — our tears. 



Sijf 



A LITTLE BOOK OP AMERICAN VERSE 



Victory for those who are living I 

Victory for those who are dead! 

May the sacred soil of Flanders Fields 

Blaze forth in triumphant red; 

The glow from the blood of those heroes 

Shall color the dawn of Peace, 

They have lived and died to save mankind 

And their praise never shall cease. 



And oh, what a welcome we'll give to 
Our brave soldier lads "Over There," 
The sound of our Nation cheering 
Shall reach Europe's war-stricken air. 
All hail, khaki-clad young heroes. 
Triumphant in old Lorraine! 
You have struck the final decisive blow 
That shall free the Old World again. 



Then ring all the joybells of gladness 

A glorious paen of Peace, 

The earth shall recover from sadness 

And the reign of cruelty cease. 

Aloft send the Star-Spangled Banner, 

Let her wave o'er "the land of the free," 

Proclaiming America's power on earth 

Through granting men real Liberty. 



Seven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

OPTIMISM 

By Carolyn B. Smith 

There's room in this great, wide world 

For everyone we know. 

For souls who ascend like rockets, 

For others whose pace is slow. 

What miatters if some are called "lucky," 

That for them nothing seems to go wrong? 

We have the word of the "good old book" : 

The race is not always to swift of foot 

Nor the battle to the strong. 

A truce to the envious minded ! 

They hurt themselves every time. 

When they strive to injure another, 

Who pluckily tries to cHmb. 

We each have a sturdy ladder 

That reaches up to the sky, 

And it's easy enough to reach the top. 

If we plod right along with seldom a stop 

And try, try, try! 

Call a halt when you meet a "knocker." 

He's wasting your precious time. 

Time's rather short for each one of us. 

As up life's ladder we climb. 

The man whose gaze is upward, 

With a smile upon his face, 

May meet with an obstacle now and then, 

But if he fall's, he is up again; 

And he wins at the end of the race. 



Eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Don't try to reform the whole world. 

The Creator is still at the helm. 

If things seem blue, it is up to you 

To quiet your own little realm. 

As long as the ocean is kept in bounds, 

As long as the sun still shines. 

It's a jolly old world if you take it that way, 

And "carry on" life from day to day, 

And rest when your sun declines. 



Nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



WHEN THE BOYS CAME HOME 

Oh, I've listened to the story 
Of Sherman marching to the sea, 
And the olden tales of Civil War 
Once sent a thrill through me. 
But now, when| guns are booming 
And bells ring out again, 
It means our gallant Pershing 
With his Khaki-clad young men. 

The sight of those young heroes 

When the transports brought them home, 

Made the! grandest spectacle 

That ever crossed the foam. 

The northern and the southern boys 

Have linked their arms as one — 

With their brothers from the east and west, 

They fought the desperate Hun. 

O, the joy of that young lady 

Standing guard on Bedloe's Isle, 

Where she holds the torch of Liberty 

That makes our land worth while! 

I should think, like Galatea, she would turn to flesh again, 

When she sees the ships returning 

With our gallant, brave young men. 

How we cheered them up Fifth Avenue! 

How we cheered them on Broadway ! 

We tried to feast and honor them 

For a debt we hope to pay. 

And brave Pershing with his officers 

Who led our gallant men! 

The spirit of George Washington 

Still lives and breathes in them. 



Ten 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



With flags and banners flying 

And whistles loud and wild, 

While the church bells sweetly chiming ; 

Sing of Peace so sweet and mild. 

All tell of glorious victory 

For our heroes now returning, 

As we lead them to the family hearth 

Where the home fires still are burning. 



But what of the lads who never return 
Those bright stars of purest gold? 
We love them better than ever we; loved 
Since they joined the Saviour's fold. 
For they have given the supreme g^ft 
For the good of their fellow men, 
And our gratitude we cannot express. 
*Tis beyond the power of pen. 

But the tears in our eyes 

And the hush in each voice, 

When the names of those heroes are read, 

Will prove to mankind 'til the end of time, 

How we love and revere our dead. 

As bright as the stars on the "service flags" 

Their memories will live forever, 

Until the sound of the last bugle call 

Shall summon earth's armies together. 



Eleven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



The following Red Cross Poem was used at Red Cross 
entertainments and "drives" during the War. The Presi- 
dent instructed his Secretary to write a letter of thanks to 
the author for the ideas expressed therein. 

THE CALL OF THE RED CROSS 

A soldier of America 

Was dy^ng, off in France, 

He lay on the bloody battlefield, 

To live, he had small chance. 

He dreamed of cooling rivers 

Flowing through his native, land, 
"A cup of water, Lord!" he cried, 
"This thirst is hard to stand." 

But the sun beat down in fiery heat 
And the cries and groans of pain 
Would cause the very dead to wake 
And suffer once again. 

Far off, across the distant field 
The battle still raged on — 
No one thought of the dying men, 
When the day must still be won! 

So the soldier boy lay suffering there, 
And he said: "Where is my God, 
Whom I worshipped in my old home church, 
On my blessed, native sod?" 

Hark! in answer to that fervent prayer, 
He heard a rushing noise; ^ 

It was a Red Cross ambulance. 
Sent to save our dying boys. 



Twelve 




THE CAI.L, OF THE RED CROSS 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



The st>ldier thought them angel forms 
Dressed all in purest white, 
"Their cross," he cried, "is the cross of God, 
Who maketh all things right!" 

So they touched with skillful, kindly hands, 
That wounded soldier boy, 
And they brought him back to life once more 
To love and home and joy. 

O, remember fathers, mothers, all! 
That your dear son or mine. 
May be lying on the battlefield 
In some distant foreign clime. 

May call upon his God and frtends 
To send him some relief, 
O, friends! You all would lisiten then 
Or 'twould cause you lasting grief. 

So help this noble Red Cross work, 
For the soldiers are yours and mine, 
And let no true American 
His share of work decline. 



Thirteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



UNITED SERVICE 

Ho Sammy, With the helmet 

Made of good old solid steel ! 

They tried to crack your head, those Huns 

And how you make them squeal ! 

Ho Jackie with the sailor suit 
And your wonderful old guns ! 
You sank ithe cursed submarines 
And tricked the frightened Huns. 

That camouflage upon our ships — 
They looked like Totem poles, — 
But when a "U" boat ventured near, 
Jack filled her full of holes. 

And oh, you little Aces 

Flying o'er the battle scene! 

The boches felt the bombs you dropped 

And heard our eagle scream. 

He screamed so loud and shrill and clear. 
It made the Kaiser run 
To Holland with his keg of beer. 
Which cheers the fallen Hun. 

So when the "Sammies" finally reached 
Berlin for a short stay, 
They swept out German "Kultur" 
'Til the devil flew away. 

O gallant U. S. Service men 

To you our praise is due! 

Not all of Europe's courts or kings 

Can show such lads as you. 



Fourteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE SOLDIERS PRAYER 

Dedicated to the Mothers of the Soldiers and Sailors 

of America by the author, 

Mrs. Allen E. Smith 

Mother of mine at the garden gate, 
While I am "Somewhere in France," 
I see you watching early and late 
Altho' there is never a chance 
That your own loved son 
Will come home soon, — 
He is here to do or die, 
For you and his country, mother dear, 
So stifle your gentle sigh. 



Mother of mine on bended knee, 

You taught me to pray and live; 

To cherish true ideals for mankind, 

To serve so that men can live. 

And so I am going this very night 

To chance it "Over the Top," 

And I shall gain victory through your prayers, 

For I know they will not stop. 



For there never was a German shell, 

That could silence this heart of mine. 

The love and faith that lie within 

Shall live till the end of time. 

God keep you safely, mother of mine. 

And all good women true ! 

The hope of a country virile and fine. 

Grows straight from women like you. 



Fifteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



So "over the top" went the soldier boy, 
In the thick of the Hun's hell-fire, 
Wihere the bursting shrapnel found its way, 
And the screaming shells rose higher. 
And tho' he was wounded deep and hard 
He managed to fire a mine, 
And "did his bit" as a soldier should, 
Then crawled to his own trench line. 



Oh, the night's of darkness came to him then 

Till he reached the valley of death — 

But the mother off in America 

Prayed with each fervent breath; 

And God in his mercy heard the prayers 

For although the lad lost an arm, 

The cross of valor is on his breast 

And the hero LIVES, safe from harm. 



Sixteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



M/SS COLUMBIA 

War Song— 1917 -April 

O, my soldier boy in khaki 
You are going off to France, 
And the band is playing onesteps 
At this military dance;; 
But I do not feel like dancing, 
For you've, come to say "goodbye" 
So I stand' here in the moonlight, 
Trying bravely not to cry. 

Chorus. 

Cheer ! cheer 1 the boys in khaki 
Marching off to France; 
They will surely win the war, 
Now that they have the chance. 
Hail, hail, Columbia! 
She brings freedom where she goes 
'Tis liberty for all mankind 
As everyone well knows. 

Ah the world has grown dreary 
How I'll miss you when you're gone; 
But you tell me to be cheery, 
Just to help the boys along. 
So I'll wave aloft "Old Glory" 
With a cheer for every star 
And I know that you will hear me 
When you're in the midst of war. 



Seventeen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Ah, you gallant boys in Khaki 
Marching bravely off to France ! 
Leaving loved ones here behind you 
While you fearlessly advance. 
'Tis the same, old Yankee Spirit 
That v(7as here in "76", 
Sons and husbands, sweethearts, brothers, 
Laboring classes, sons of rich. 

As; you shoulder gun or rifle 
For our own, dear native land ; 
We will cheer you to the echo. 
There was never sight so grand ! 
And Columbia, your Columbia 
Hides the pain w'ithin her* heart. 
As she watches your departure 
Knowing well you'll do your part. 

Chorus. 



Eighteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



TO AN ACE 



I hear the whirring of thy wings 

Icarus of the air! 

Thou art half man and yet half bird 

And strange beyond compare. 

No swallow in its airy flight 

Can dart more gracefully; 

Thy wings seemed formed of feathers light 

To skim across the sea. 



O, wondrous age in which we live, 
Where men can fly at will, 
Can chain the forces Nature owns. 
And use them with rare skill! 
So here's to you brave airmen. 
In your khaki suits of tan, 
Crusaders in the realm of air 
And gallant to a man ! 



Nineteen 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE KNITTING BRICADEr-J9I7 

I watched a group of pretty maidens, 
Girls of "nineteen seventeen," 
As they sat with hands well laden 
With knitting needles and worsted skeiin. 

Each face bore an earnest purpose, 
Eyes were busy a's well as hands. 
Knitting, weaving for friend or sweetheart 
"Doing his bit" in distant lands. 

As they worked they laughed and chatted, 
Lively as birds in the sun's warm rays. 
But once in a while there fell a silence. 
As memory turned to other days. 

Days when those absent boys in khaki 
Sat among them in careless joy; 
Now; where are they and what are they doing. 
God protect each gallant boy! 

Some girls were knitting worsted sweaters. 
Another a muffler warm and gray, 
And I know that a pfayer and a tear fell on them 
At the thought of the loved one far away. 

Brave little girls,^ your boy^ dream of you, 
Keeping the home fires burning bright; 
In the gloom of the dreary trenches, 
Thoughts of yoa bring celestial light. 

So knit, knit for the absent "Sammies," 

Send them comforts warm and strong. 

The touch of the soft, warm wool they are made of 

Will feel like the clasp of hands at home. 

Mothers, sisters, friends and sweethearts, 
American women one and all. 
Ye have risenl nobly to aid the loved ones 
And answer the nation's clarion call. 



Twenty 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSED 



THE EUROPEAN WOMEN'S WAR TAX. 1915 

Alone I sit and watch, this dreadful night, 
My spirit shrinks within me with affright, 
I hear the booming of the big siege guns 
And know the Earth is losing noble: sons. 

One month since Jean went to this cruel war, 

And now I sit and listen from afar 

And wonder shall I ever see him more 

Or has death sealed for me the bridal door? 

Last Summer, Ah ! 'twas not so long ago 
When all the earth seemed fair, no sound of woe, 
Came to disturb the beauty of the scene 
Where first I heard the love-song of my Jean. 

The moon was shining on that radiant night 
While happy lovers dancedj in her soft light; 
And Nightingales trilled softly in the grove 
Singing of peace, of happiness and love. 



Hark I without, the shrieking of a shell 
An instrument devised by fiends from hell. 
Could they but see the damage when 'tis i done 
'Twould cause the very evilest to run. 

'Tis morning, and the pale sun shines on high 
As if 'twere sacrilege to grace the sky. 
When mankind has this lust for war and sin 
'Twere better that the light of sun grow dim. 



Twenty-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



I hear the tramping* of a hundred feet 
A sound of soldiers marching through the street. 
Haste ! I will draw the window casement wide — 
Jean ! have you come at last to seek your bride ? 

Yes, he has come — his comrades stand below 
They enter in the court-yard soft and slow. 
What isj this thing within me, leaden weight 
That seems to turn my life and soul to hate. 

I am not 'struck by bullet, 'tis no scar 
Only the "tax" we women pay to war. 
Christ show us mercy! bid this poor heart cease. 
Take all the women too or give us peace. 



Twenty-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

EASTER. 1919 

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is 
death." — 1st Cor. 15:25. 

In the hush of Easter morning 
Before the break of dawn, 
While the scent of Easter lilies 
Perfumes the morning calm; 
Came the voice of a glorious Presence 
Pervading the earth and sky; 
"I am the resurrection and the life 
Arise, all ye who sigh 1" 

"Mothers and wives and children 

All who have suffered loss, 

Come ye to me in your agony 

To the shadow of the cross 

Look in the gleam of the dawning 

See ye a mighty throng? 

They are the souls of your heroes great 

Who have' suffered and conquered wrong. 

"They live, O, ye who sorrow 

Tho' their bodies lie over in France; 

That which ye knew and loved the most 

Beholds you with loving glance 

They live, ah, dearer than ever 

And 'tis but a step they have gone — 

So arise all ye who sorrow 

On this great resurrection mom 1" 

Think not thef Lord who made heroes 

Will suffer such souls to die — 

They have only taken one step beyond 

The reach of mortal eye. 

So join in their heavenly anthem 

Uplifting your souls in praise 

And the Peace of this Easter morning 

Shall glorify all your days. 



Twenty-three 



A-'lITTL^EBOOK of AMERICAN VERSE 



CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD HOME TOWN 



Christmas "nineteen-nineteen," 

And our brave soldier boys are at home; 
The trenches are robbed of their prey ats last, 

And the season of cheer has come. 

How we welcome these brave young heroes, 

*Tho iseldom a word they say, 
When questioned aibout those grim war times, 

When Death stalked them every day. 

They seem to be so glad to forget 

The rack and ruin "over there." 
When on the dear home faces they gaze 

With wonderful intent stare. 

And the clasp of their manly hands 

Tells the story to us at home, 
Of the burden these splendid boys have borne 

When they faced grim death in the "zone." 

So never' mind the questions. 
Praise God, they are home at last! 

Give them the best that we have here. 
And let them forget the past. 

Tell them how greatly you missed them 
(While you help them to Christmas cheer.) 

It's Thanksgiving and Chriistmas rolled into one, 
To have the dear fellows here. , 



Twenty-four 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Old Christmas was never so merry — 
'Til we gaze on "the vacant chair," 

Then our eyes become dim with emotion 
For the loss each heart must share. 

But I know were he among us, 
He would be the gayest of all, 

For Christmas time in the- old home town 
'Was the time he loved best of all. 

So wreathe his chair with holly, girls, 
And set his card a/t his place; 

His spirit will still be with us, 
When we offer our Christmas grace. 

'Give thanks for our noble soldiers, 
We can spend our Christmas at home, 

With quiet minds and grateful hearts, 
That peace unto all has come. 



Twenty-five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

MISS AMERICA'S GALLANT BOYS 
IN THE NAVY 

War Song 

I sit alone in the twilijiht in the shadows dim and gray, 
And I dream of my swectlieart sw^iling on the ocean far away. 
My bonny boy, in his suit of bhie ; 
With his manly heart so good and true, 
We shall win tlie war if they're all like you, 
My sailor boy in the Navy ! 

Chorus 

Ho! wliat does he care for a periscope, 
With the good guns near and a heart of oak; 
With tlie submarine devils he's able to cope. 
Our gallant blue boys in the Navy. 
Sing ho ! for the boys in the suits of blue, 
Our gallant blue boys in the Navy ! 

I dearly like our soldiers, but the sailor lad "gets me," 

With his ready smile to greet you, like the sunlight on the seas. 

His ship is his well loved palace; 

"No trenches for me," says he; 

"I like the smell of the good salt air, 

And the grand old ocean free 1" — Chorus. 

So when the war is over, and our warships turn towards home, 
Each sweetheart will be waiting for her own dear lad's return. 
With flags and banners flying. 
How we'll bless the happy day 
When Jack is home from service. 
And he gaily treads Broadway. 



Twenty-six 



A LITTLK BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



A SOLDIER BOY'S WIRELESS TO THE 
CIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 



Tho' lifo is lonj^ and you and I have met 
To tread tho parted way. 
Yet must I hold one vain one lasti regret, 
Thajt silence held us that last golden day. 

To me, the soul within your violet eyes 
Told more than did the few, sweet words you said. 
The very air breathed of your dear replies 
Altho' trite language fled. 

Rut now, when I am here in distant land 
And never more beloved, shall see your face, 
Speak to the v^nnd, or with your own dear hand 
Send me your love through space. 



Twenty-seven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

it 

DE PROFUNDIS 

The tragedy of a "basket case" 

I possessed all blessings : 

Life, love, money and health 

The best of all. 

Then came the "great adventure" — 

The call of war, which stirs the blood of men 

More than love, or wealth or hate. 

O, the stai^ shells, I see them falling ! 
Falling, ever falling! 
And the liquid fire searing and burning 
While the devilish boches leap, and hide. 
Hide and leap, like rats in thd. fires of hell! 

And the friends who went with me — 

Jack and Larry, both as gay. 

As when we trod the primrose path 

Along the "Great* White .Way." 

We joked 'mid the thynder of the guns 

And the shrapnels deadly play. 

How we laughed in rough defiance 
And swapped stories of our doings : 
"When we return again to God's own country." 
Then Jack '"went West" and Larry too 
And I fought on alone. 

Alone — without my friends. 

Yet their brave spirits fought by my side, 

They nerved my arm, and gave me keener sight 

And all went well, until one night — 

That cursed shell dropped near me 

And made me as I am — ^ 

I have al voice, can speak. 

Yet that is all — I'm noti a man. 



Twenty-eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



JEAN IE IN THE HEATHER 

The shells are scream'm' round me, and we're fightin', 

fightin' mad, 
And there's many a mon w'ho's dropped beside me wore the 

Highland plaid. 
For we'f'e here on -foreign shores, afightin' for our King; 
Our King, our country and our friends — the Allies. 



When night comes on and we are huddled in a trench 
An' I listen to the stories of the English and ithe French, 
Then I see my Scottish highlands in fair and stormy weather. 
And I dream of you, my Jeanie, a-standin' in the heather. 



I ken auld Rob McGregor, a-drivin' all his sheep, 

An' Don, the Collie's chasing them, with many a joyful leap; 

While Sandy in his kilties is playin' on the pipes 

And the lads and lassies dancin' in the gloaming. 



But I'll come to you, Jeanie, when this cruel war shall pass, 
An' we'll gang to Kirk together, my bonnie highland lass! 
For it's true you are and beautiful — not changeful like the 

weather. 
You hold the very heart of me, my Jeanie, in the heather. 



Our captain picked a daisy in a field the other day, 

And wondered as he gazed at it what "Bobbie Burns" would 

say. 
For, oh, 'twas "crimson tipped" — but not the natural way, — 
With the blood of a gallant highland laddie. 



Twenty-nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



We wrapped his plaid around him as we bore him from the 

field, 
For he had met a soldier's fate through a brave and gallant 

deed ; 
A smile was on the laddie's face, Ms hands were clasped 

together 
And in his coat above his heart, lay a spray of Scottish 

heather. 

So we'll send the spray to Jeanie (altho' 'tis more than sad). 
And hope that in another world she'll meet her highland lad ; 
Tho' men by hundred thousands have perished in this war. 
The spirit of true loves lives on, to guide us like a star. 

In Memory of The Highland Lads. 



Thirty 




THE BOY SCOUTS' DRIVE 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

THE BOY SCOUTS' DRIVE 
1917—1918 

Wake up people! and you will hear 
The call of the Boy Scouts loud and clear. 
They are marching along with an object in view, 
To sell the Liberty Bonds to you. 

Oh, the dear, good fellows over in France, 
Bill and Charley, Allen and Vance, 
And all the rest, — ^yes every one 
Who has left this land to fight the Hun. 

They look to the Boy Scouts over here. 
To smooth the way and make things clear. 
By selling the bonds and selling the stamps 
They help our soldiers "Somewhere in France." 

So here we come with plenty of pep — 
Boy Scouts! LIBERTY BONDS! yep! yep! yep! 
Please take a Bond for the boys over there, 
You won't lose a cent and it shows that you care. 



Read Mrs. Allen E. Smith's poem on the Boy Scouts Drive. 
"You won't lose a cent and it shows that you care." Her poem 
is an eloquent, patriotic plea in a nutshell, and her simple 
prayer leaves nothing unsaid : "Please take a bond for the 
boys 'over there,* you won't lose a cent and it shows that 
you care."— Editor. 1917. 



Thirty-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE IMP 

There was a 1>oy, I knew him well; 

A regular little imp, 

He used to tease his sister 

And icall his brother: "that poor simp." 

He nearly drove his parents wild 

With various daring tricks. 

His father had to round him up 

With several good hard licks. 

The jam was kept with lock and key, 

The cat would hide at sight. 

His sister's beau when Jim came round 

Would vanish in a freight. 

His brother's neckties were purloined; 

Likewise his dad's silk socks. 

He borrowed sister's wrist watch 

And set back the household clocks. 

And when the Ladies Aid would meet 
At mother's, once a month, ': 

They'd find a tack an every seat 
And miss just half their lunch. 
Jim's clothes would be real soakrn' wet 
When we dressed for Sunday school, 
Which used to upset mother's nerves 
And rile Dad, as a rule. 

There never was a layer cake 
That was quite safe from Jim, 
And when the parson came to dine 
He'd mostly preach at him. 
And send Sis for the Bible 
To read a text or two; 
When to their horror they would find 
Whole chapters isealed — ^with glue. 



Thirty-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Oh, then the awful looks that were 

Directed right at Jim! 

It used to make me feel quite glad 

I wasn't made like him. 

Jim did so many daring things, 

I know they'd fill a book, 

From opening feather pillows 

To writing love poems for the cook. 

Then when we entered in the War 

Jim left us on a run, 

To fight for our brave Allies 

And to squelch the bloody Hun. 

And mother, she looked dreadful pale, 

While Sis, she looked so sad; 

And Dad he took four papers, 

Seeking news of his dear lad. 

Gee! the house was awful slow, 
Because we all missed Jim. 
The days dragged on so long and dull; 
The very sun seemed dim. 
Then came a day, an awful day! 
When a short black line we read : 
"James Westlake — Killed in action." 
And we knew that Jim was dead. 

Our hearts were wrung with anguish. 
How we missed him, no one knows! 
And I, "Poor Simp," his brother, 
Fairly wept o'er his old clothes. 
Our khaki-clad young hero. 
One who never seemed to rest. 
Has left his family lonely. 
When he took the road "out west." 



Thirty-three 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



A cable from the front 
Told of bravery unexcelled; 
While a cross of honor reached us 
When his "services" were held. 
And from Parson to his teachers, 
Each old friend would weep for Jim, 
Telling stories of his boyish pranks 
So full of life and vim. 

Then with heavy hearts we slowly took 
The road which led to home, 
Each head was bowed with sorrow 
For our brother who haid gone. 
The house door slowly opened, 
In the hall 'mid shadows dim 
Stood a figure clad in khald. 
Is it, can — it — be — our Jim? 

Yes 'twas Jim, thougih by his pallor 
You would hardly think 'twas he, 
And it was another James Westlake 
Who died across the sea. 
Our Jim, tho' wounded has returned, 
And the cross we got was his, 
"For gallantry in action," 
And he lives, our Jimmy lives ! 

We should have known that things connected 

With our Jim get mixed; 

He'd met another soldier 

With the same name, at Gamp Dix, 

And the two had chummed together ; 

In the trenches "over there," 

Both were very brave in action; 

Both received the "Croix de Guerre." 



Thirty-four 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Now that our Jim's come back to us, 

With a new light in his eyes, 

We are looking for his tricks again, 

But he takes' us by surprise. 

He has met the "Great Adventure" 

And it seemed to quiet him, 

While the friendships made with heroes 

Casts a halo over Jim. 

I know I'll never have the sand 

To run away like Jim, 

And perhaps it takes a little imp 

To capture men of sin, 

But w^en the Boches met our boys 

They got licked so darned quick. 

They came to know Americans 

Can even whip Old Nick. 

And maybe Jim's a little imp. 
But when I come to' die, 
I hope we'll go together, 
So he'll always be near by. 
And a boy's idea of heaven 
Ain't just angels and white clothes. 
But it's soldiers dressed in khaki! 
Just as every fellow knows. 



Thirty-five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN .VERSE 



FLOWERS TO THE LIVING 



We raise monuments to lost heroes 

We istrew roses iot the dead, 

But O, forget not the living 

Who have fought and suffered and bled! 

The hero who lives near us, 

With maimed and shattered limb — 

Whom we pass by, with a glance of the eye 

While he stumps along — what of him? 

Turn your thoughts to the men left sightless 

Bereft of the light of day, 

Let us remember them, my friends, 

And help them along the dark way. 

And the boys who left home and positions, 

So strong in their pride of youth — 

By our helpful acts, and our spoken word 

Let our gratitude tell them the truth. 



Thirty-six 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

DARKTOWN LULLABY 

Close yo eyes mah pickininny 

You must go toe sleep, 

Mammy am a watch in' 

While de stars begin to peep; 

Yo am jest de nicest 

Little chocolate drop I know, 

In a gown like ice cream 

Dat am jest as white as snow. 

Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go— go — ^go. 

Daddy am de bravest man 

Dat sailed across to France, 

Wid de cullud regiment 

He'll make dem boches dance! 

When he rolls dem great big eyes 

An walks so awful fine 

I guess dey'll make him colonel 

When our President gets time. 

Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — go. 

Moonlight am a shinin' 

On de roses by de door, 

Yaller dog am playin* 

Wid his shadow on de floor; 

But dey ain't no ban jo' si playin' 

Since yo daddy's gone to wah 

An' it's lonsome here a-prayin' 

Dat de Lord will spare him shore. 

Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — ^go. 

But never mind mah honey 

We both is doin' fine. 

If we is "Sunburned Americans" 

Dis wah doan make us whine. 

We'll hoe de corn an' 'taters 

An* tend de mellion vine. 

An* knit socks for yo daddy 

Who has gone toe cross de Rhine. 

Go toe sleep, mah cullud baby, go — go — ^go. 

Thirty-seven 




A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

A PLEA FOR PEACE 

Oct. 4tli, 1914 
The call of War surrounds the earth, 

A message straight from Sheol, 
The imati is mad who gave it forth 

And caused mankind to fall. 
Tho' monarchs of the earth there be, 

One man should not have pov^^er 
To drain the blood' of thousands, 

In civilization's briglhtest hour. 
A million wailing children, 

The widow's streaming eyes, 
Are protests to the Universe, 

Against a despot's lies, 
"Christian Rulers," some are called; 

They mock the Prince of Peace, 
Wiho (bring this warfare on the earth 

And know not when 'twill cease! 
The pride-ful toys of modern war. 

Must make the angels weep, 
To see destruction's mighty scar 

O'er earth's fair bosom sweep. 
To drop the bombs from Zeppelins high 

On humble iHttle homes, 
Tearing the flesh of wife and child. 

Leaving the shuddering bones. 

Once more we need Thee, Christ, on earth. 

Oh harken to our call! 
Lest men stoop lower than the beast 

And lose the good in all. 
Oh! let us send our tears and prayers 

For peace across the sea, 
And help us lighten their great cares. 
Father, we ask of Thee. 
This poem was written Oct., 1914, "Peace Sunday," just 
two months after the commencement of the "great War." 
The /poem 'was read in church on that day and it waisi a true 
prediction of" what happened later on. 
Thirty-eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

DISCERNMENT 

To D. B. S. 

How people strive and fret and fume 
To change conditions, make things right; 
And yet within Life's wondrous loom 
The woven strands are dark and light. 

We seek abroad for tropic flowers 
With gorgeous colors, perfume rare, 
All heedless of our own home bowers 
Where roses bloom with lilies fair. 

Man wanders forth in quest of friend, 
Believing distant heroes great, 
And often finds out ' in the end 
True merit stood within his gate. 

Some women seek; with eager hands 
The baubles which they crave from life; 
Throwing aside the things of worth. 
Hardening their natures in the strife. 

The humble friend with heart of gold 
Who in our deepest sorrow stands 
Firm as a Christian knight of old 
With steady eyes and willing hand. 

This is the soul, who like the flower 
That grows within our garden fair. 
Serenely stands each day and hour 
The test which friendship has to bear. 

Environment ! how many sins 
Are charged unjustly to thy name. 
When 'tis discernment that we lack 
To know real friends or merit fame. 



Thirty-nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



MY LITTLE BOY ALLEN 

The front door bangs, I hear a voice, 
A voice that always gives me joy : 
"Where are you Mother? Mother dear! 
I'm home from school," calls my little boy. 

I look into his honest eyes 
That are the color of the sky. 
The smile upon his little face 
Would drive away my deepest sigh. 

"Mother, here is my report, 
There's eight good 'A's' on it today. 
You know you said tol me last month. 
You wished the 'A's' had come to stay. 

"And so I tried my very best 

To do just as the teacher sa'id; 

I tell you some things seemed quite hard, 

I lalmost thought they'd bust my head. 

"Now does it please you, Mother dear?" 
The pleading look in his dear eyes, 
With tight embrace of inky hands. 
Was just a taste of Paradise. 

Dear Lord who knoweth great and small, 
Who judgeth actions good or bad, 
Bless Thou the loving work of one 
Who does his best — my little lad. 

And when in future years to come, 
His Mother's form has passed away, 
O, save him Lord from grievous harm 
And let h'im know my sympathy. 



Forty 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



FOUR NATURE SONGS 

California 
The Deer 
The Call of May 

Autumn 



California 



California! my own best beloved State. 
Thou richest Eldorado truly great, 
The bounteous gifts v^hioh Nature gave to thee 
Are strewn from north to south most lavishly. 

Snow-capped Sierras raise their lordly heads, 
And down below the glowing poppy beds, 
Turn the warm earth a living, liquid gold; 
The State's real oriflamme doth here unfold. 

Yosemite, a valley fit for God, 
No fairer place hath foot of man ere trod; 
With glistening sheen of water falls so high, 
As if the liquid poured from azure sky. 

It is as if a veil were drawn aside, 
Bidding us gaze on Heaven's gate set wide; 
While giant trees like sentinals on guard, 
Warn all vandal feet from verdant sward. 

Mighty Sequoia trees, seventh wonder of the agel 
Centuries ago, the world was your stage. 
And you saw things which men no longer know. 
We venerate the place wherein you grow. 

The glowing sunsets of the Golden Gate, 
Where Great Pacific meets his little mate; 
The waters of fair San Francisco Bay, 
Here mingle with the mighty ocean's spray. 



Forty-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Then turn to Southern California transcendent, fair, 
TOiere orange groves perfume the balmy air, 
And flowers in wild profusion everywhere 
Make homes for feathered choirsters to share. 

And yet the best of all, O generous State! 
Are the rich gifts you shower on small and great 
Fruits of the "Promised Land" beyond compare. 
Gold from your bosom, deep shines rich and rare. 

Your air has cured mankind who hopeless came, 
Raised them from death to strength and life again; 
Their sons and daughters adorn your golden name 
And give to you enduring, deathless fame. 
Homesick? Yes, often have I breathed a sigh, 
When memory brings the thought of your clear sky. 
Yet the contrast in thisl land of ice and snow 
Hath taught me to appreciate you so. 



The Deer 



The rushes part above the brook, 
Some creature is gently creeping 
Amidst the wild flowers and the ferns. 
Two soft brown eyeis are peeping. 

He steps into the water's rush, 
Which sparkles cool and clear, 
And stands — a model for the brush, 
A graceful, spotted deer. 

shy wild creature of the wood, 

1 love to watch each motion, 
The startled glance, the lifted foot, 
The hurried, swift commotion. 



Forty-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



Wihen falling leaf or dropping twig, 
The slig'htest turn or twist, 
Shall cause him to take quick alarm, 
And vanish like the mist. 



The Call of Ma^ 



The maple leaves are waving 
In the sky so soft and blue, 
And robins hopping o'er the earth 
Find plenty work to do. 

The little mate within the nest 
Is waiting patiently 
The efforts of her tiny spouse 
To feed her gallantly. 

For Spring has come — and all the earth 
Is thrilling with new life, 
The rich, brown soil is warm again 
And ready for the strife. 

I hear the children's voices 
Singing gaily while they play, 
They feel the kindly influence 
Of this sweet month of May. 

And that's why poets 'round the earth 
Write of the sweet Springtime, 
It strikes the chord melodious 
That causes them to rhyme. 

And you, O city toilers, 
Confined within four walls, 
I think of you with sympathy 
Whenever Nature calls. 



Forty-three 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



For man should have what is his due, 
The fields and trees of green, 
The sky so blue, the running hrook, 
The happy pastoral scene. 



Autumn 



Swallows are flying away to the southland, 
Strong winds are blowing the leaves from the trees^ 
All the late flowers of Summer are dying. 
Touched by the sting of the sharp Autumn breeze. 

But blue is the sky as the eyes of a maiden. 
And free is the air from the warm Summer haze. 
And oh, we step lightly because we feel; brightly 
The wholesome effect of these wonderful days. 

And so there's a reason for each changing season. 
And much to be happy for every new day, 
For life holds a wealth of good, if it be understood. 
Cherish it closely 'ere it pass away. 



Forty-four 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

At last, old warrior, thou hast met the unconquerable foe! 
That foe which spares no man however great. 
Thy doughty head at last is lying low, 
Thy virile form has meet the common fate. 

Suddenly death came in silence of the night, 
When friends believed thee sleeping and at ease; 
And clasping thee with firm tho' gentle might 
Bore thy brave spirit to the land of peace. 

And all the nation grieves — for thou wert great ! 
American! in every thought and plan. 
Deploring thy inevitable fate. 
United we exclaim : "Here lies a man !" 

Courageous, brilliant, dominant, you gave 
All that you had — even your four sons. 
While like an old war-horse your spirit brave 
Rose at the call : "To arms !" and sound of guns. 

When we recall the past: thy deeds of worth 
As statesman, warrior, author, traveler, friend; 
We thank the Lord who placed thee on this earth 
And know the world griieves, at this — thy end. 



Forty-five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



TO EDISON 

Edison! when I behold thy massive head 

The replica of mighty emperor long since dead, 

No longer do I wonder thou art iso great — 

Re-incarnation opened wide the gate, 

And you stepped forth once more upon this earth 

To bless miankind with gifts of wondrous worth. 

Oh, we have men of: noble worth, each name 
That's writ within our templed Hall of Fame, 
Hath added to the splendor of our race 
And earned for native land an honored place. 

But thou O Edison,, who secrets gave. 
Mysterious, powerful — this side the grave 
We common mortals never would have learned 
The marvels your great genius hath discerned. 



Forty-six 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



At a Reading Club of which the author was a member, a 
"Riley Evening" was given. Several selections from J. Whit- 
comb Riley's poems were read, and then the following original 
verse was contributedi by the author. After the meeting, the 
IX)em was sent to Mr. Riley and a beautiful letter was received 
in reply. This was shortly before Mr. Riley's death. 



A READING CLUB POEM 

The Reading Club has met to-n'ight 
To praise a literary light, 
A man who never puts things dryly 
The noted poet, Whitcomb Riley. 

His poems are of the* simple life, 

The common things — 
Wherein the strife 
For worldly honors, riches, fame, 
Are not the only things to gain. 

"A Little Cripple," "A Rainy Day," 

"A Small Hop-toad," 
Who chanced to stray; 
Are all fit subjects, for his pen 
He sings of these as well as men. 

So in that niche within our heart 
Where loved authors play their part. 
We place this poet and rate him highly 
The kindly genius, J. Whitcomb Riley. 



Forty-seven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



IN MEMORIAM 

James Whitcomb Riley, 
Thou hast at last passed on, 
Beloved, revered, 
Indiana's best loved son. 

Full many a heart 
Hath brightened at thy song; 
They heard and loved thee well- 
A mighty throng. 

In Fame's great Hall 
Where men are rated highly, 
We place thy poet's name, 

James Whitcomb Riley. 

And yet thy greatest 
Monument of worth, 
Will be the sorrowing hearts 
Throughout the earth. 



Forty-eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE PHILOSOPHIC FARMER 

Things ain't quite so dreadful 
But what they might be worse, 
It's better to ride in a trolley car 
Then 'tis to ride in a hearse. 

What if them lautomobiles 

Is runnin' free like mice^ — 

When they have one of them accidents 

It don't make folks look nice! 

I sorter craved an aeroplane 
To git in it an' fly; 
I reckoned it would be right fine 
To sail up in the sky. 

But the one I saw at the county fair, 
It took a mighty fall, 
An* when that aeroplane struck earth 
There wa'n't no man at all. 

'Twas Lincoln said : "Us common folks 
Must be beloved by God, 
Because He made so many of us 
Tillers of the sod." 

Maybe we're blest an' maybe we ain't. 
But I don't lay awake at night, 
Aworrying over finance 
When the money market's tig'ht. 



Forty-nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



But I git Up in the morning 
To the singin' of the birds, 
(There ain't no finer singers 
In the operys that I've heard.) 

An' I eat a whopping breakfast 

Of ham an' buckwheat cakes, 

That would make them noted financeers 

Fill up with pains an' aches. 

An' I whistle to my collie 
While I start out in ithe sun. 
An' I thank the God above me 
That the day's work has begun. 

Wal, it's good to be a farmer 

An' it's! good to be alive. 

For 'twas God who made the country 

But the city man contrived. 



Fifty 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



TO DORIS 

Of all the babies in the Park 
There are none like baby Doris, 
Her voice is sweeter than the lark 
And when she laughs the angels hark, 
To happy little Doris. 



When she is grown, I know she'll sing, 
And that will make the welkin ring 
Like birds within the forest. 
May future years their guerdon bring 
Of health and love and everything 
To bless the life of Doris ! 



Fifty-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



A TWIN LAKES IDYL 

O, the sunrise on a mountain lake 
In the glorious month of June, 
Where purple headed mounta'ins break 
Through the rosy tint of morn. 

To float along with a merry song 
In a swift "Oldtown" canoe, 
Far away from the city's throng 
Is the life for me — and you. 

The water lilies bloom at our hand 
With chalices snowy^ white. 
While overhead a bluebird band 
Carol along in their flight. 

Watch the speckled pickerel jump. 

For a daring bottle fly ! 

If you know how to "cast" your good steel rod 

Your breakfast await nearby. 

Had ever water such silvef sheen 
Or sky such liquid blue? 
It is fit for you, my sylvan queen, 
In the bow of your green canoe. 

So let us float in our little boat 
To the land of dryad and faun, 
There is magic in the Berkshire Hills, 
In the dewy hours of dawn. 



Fifty-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN V E R S El 



WHY WOMEN SHOULD VOTE 

We'll work for Equal Suffrage 
Until the dawn of light 
When man shall grant to womenkind 
What is her equal right. 

*Tis woman brings the man on earth — 
Her thoughts inborn in him, 
Uplift his soul to greatness 
And teach the fallacy of sin. 

The mother's kindly counsel 
Her suffering and her pain, 
Has all redounded for man's good 
He is her highest aim. 

Then why not give to women the vote 
Her mind's as great to plan 
Justice to humanity, 
For woman, child oi^ man? 



*Tis only lack of civilization 
That causes men to quote : 
"Women are the inferior sex 
We shall not let them vote." 

That is the cave man's attitude 
To rule her with a club. 
To keep a woman in "her place" 
Only to cook and scrub. 



Fifty-three 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



When women help to make the law 
They need not shirk the home. 
God g-ave them minds as well as men, 
To think and plan and form. 

So the mind of woman 
Has soared aloft, 
She has harnessed to a star; 
Her day of liberty has dawned 
Real freedom is not far. 



She is man's true companion 

In home, in soul, in mind. 

Her "rights" should stand the same as his 

In every generous mind. 



Fifty-four 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



The New Jersey State Federation of Women's Qubs, 
which at present has a membership of 29 thousand women, 
held a competition a few years ago for the words of a 
song for the Federation. Mrs. Allen E. Smith won the compe- 
tition with the following song which is still a favorite at 
club meetings and large conventions : 

FEDERATION SONG 

(Air: Onward, Christian Soldiers). 

Forward, sisters, forward. 

This is Woman's Day; 
Life and light and freedom 

Guide us on our way; 
Womanhood and wifehood 

Let us glorify, 
Intellect and reason 

Now shall have full sway. 

Chorus 

Forward, sister, forward. 

Strong in hope are we. 
Nature made us women, 

God has made us free! 

Let us help within our home 

Help to mould the State, 
Strive to form a nation, 

Make it truly great. 
Purity in woman 

Makes her sons sublime, 
Let us raise the standard, 

Till the end of Time I 



Fifty-five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

NOEL 

I love the olden story 
That Christ came down in glory, 
On Christmas night in Bethlehem 
So many years ago. 

The angel hosts were singing, 
"Peace on earth" was ringing, 
And every heart was joyful; 
In homes of high and low. 

While Jesus meek and holy 
In a manger lying lowly, 
The wisdom of the ages 
Locked within His tiny hreast. 

His mother bent above Him 
She worshipped Him and loved Him, 
And holding Him in reverent awe 
She hardly dared caress. 



Two thousand years have passed 'since then 

The Son of God is here again. 

We celebrate this glorious day 

That brought us Christ to show the way. 

Peace and good w'ill He taught to all, 
Good will and peace lest mankind fall, 
'Oory to God" the world sings, 
Brotherhood the Master brings. 



Fifty-six 



AXITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THANKSGIVING 

The feast of America, 

Thanksgiving Dayl 
Founded by Puritans, 

Men who could pray. 

Thanks for the spirit 

Of those hardy men, 
Chosen by God, 

An "advance guard" for him. 

To found a great nation 
whose source was pure faith, 

And make of Americans 
A true Christian race. 

Success has attended 
Our land since its birth, 

The firmest foundation 
Sustains it on earth. 

Thanks for our liherty 

Granted by God; 
He made men and women free 

'Ti's our watchword. 

Thanks for the fruits 
Of this wonderful land, 

Great in resources, 
Ours to command. 

Peace we should hold unto. 

Justice be given, 
Mercy to fellow-men, 

Thanks unto heaven ! 



Fifty-seven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE LAST SCORE 

I found in my walk this morning 
A little red book, a *golf score*, 

Dropped by a college man no doubt, 
Well up in sports galore. 



Most of the pages hold records of 'scores', 
But part of them, can you guess? 

Are pencil sketches of one girl's face 
In a medley of changes in dress. 



He has drawn her gracefully 'puitting' 
Her ball where she thinks it will go. 

But alas! her expression on the following page 
Is an encyclopedia of woe. 



Next she is dressed in a ball gown, 
With neck like a Gibson girl, 

And ah, what is this twixt the pages? 
A tiny chestnut curl. 



The perfume of violets is stealing 
From the leaves of this little red book. 

So to turn one more page in the story 
Finds a flower from some shady nook. 



Alas, in my haste drops a clipping 
Which I see at a glance is well read. 

And I learn from this small piece of paper 
That the girl of his heart is wed. 



Fifty-eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



COMMUNITY MEETING 

Christ did not say, "Blind man what is thy creed?' 
Before he touched those vacant, sightless eyes. 
And waiting, he paused to hear the widow plead: 
"Saviour! in mercy, let my dead son rise." 
Healing and teaching all, He went His way. 
Listening to every call both night and day. 

If we are Christians true, then should we ask : 

"Tell me your creed, or are you in my class?" 

And yet all creeds are good — to various eyes 

They point the different roads to Paradise, 

So when together we shall meet at last 

And things of earthly moment shall have passed, 

O, what a mighty anthem will arise 

To fill with music sweet the radiant skies. 

Love in our hearts to all; that is the key. 

That opens wide the great Eternity 

The kindly glance, the loving word of cheer 

That falls on aching heart or lonely ear 

So shall we meet in blest community, 

The love of Christ awaits for you and me. 



Fiffy-nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



LOVE 

Poets always sang of Love 
Ever since the world began, 

It seems the ever favorite theme 
Placed before the eyes of man. 

So let me tell you what it is 
And see if you will not agree, 

That it is just the sweetest thing 
That ever came to you or me. 

It is the perfume of the rose, 
The glowing simset in the sky, 

The purest air on mountain top. 
The music that will never die. 

The keynote of the human heart 
On which the chord of Life is played, 

When two who long have lived apart 
Have met in loves own, fond enibrace. 



Sixty 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



TRUST 

Sometime when friends you thitik are true 
Take on a grouch and knock at you, 
Keep smiling, — there is another day; 
The darkest clouds soon pass away. 

The ones who strike you in the dark, 
Seldom hit right on the mark; 
The very shaft they aim at you, 
Will oft rebound and hurt them too. 

So try the magic of a smile, 
(One full of kindness, not a guile) 
'Twill oft disperse the mist of hate 
And change perhaps lan adverse fate. 

Perchance some friend is full of woe, 
Of trouble which he cannot show; 
And all his horizon is blue. 
Including his idea of you. 

Don't heed him friend, unless he tries 
To injure you with sinful lies, 
Which soon shall meet the ligiht of day 
Where men at large admire fair play. 

And if he doesi not change his line, 
Remember, there is a judgment time; 
Where camouflage and shoddy stuff 
Are judged along with other bluff. 

Reach grateful hands out to the sun 
Another day has just begun, 
The sun still shines on you and me 
If we but lift our eyes to see. 



Sixty-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



RECOMPENSE 

We all have known sorrow 

And suffered pain. 
Pursued great 'happiness 

Enjoyed great gain. 

As little children 

At their mother's knee, 
Send up to Heaven 

Each childish little plea. 

So do we crave to know 
And still to know — 

Altho' the answer 
Seemeth to be slow. 

Sometimes it seems 

That Justice veils her face, 
In portioning to us 

Our rightful place. 

And yet, I feel 
A confidence divine, 

That all shall be made clear 
In God's good time. 

So clear to me, dear friend, 

So clear to you, 
As sunrise shows 

The gleaming of the dew. 

As darkness fades away 

In morning light, 
So shall our larger vision 

Make things bright. 

And what has seemed 
So hard to understand, 

Shall lay before our eyes— 
The "Promised Land." 



Sixty-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



IN THE SILENCE 

I've been seeking Jesus, seeking, 
For that light that comes from Thee, 

Now I stand no longer weeping 
For Thy grace has set me free. 



In the long, long nights of darkness 
When I could not find the way; 

And doubt, with thorny sharpness, 
Caused my halting steps to stray. 



Oh, then the light of spirit 
Which I know is part of me, 

In the hush of a great silence 
Showed the way which leads to Thee. 



Sixty-three 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



A SAINT PATRICK'S DAY BALLAD 

Saint Patrick was a gentleman 
Who sailed across from France, 

And whin he struck old Ireland 
He lead thim quilte a dance. 

Whin he found all those wild Irishmen, 
So bold and rough and free, 

With niver a thought for God or man — 
He taught Christianity. 

And whin he saw the serpents 
Go wriggling on the ground, 
He ordered thim right off the Isle 
Where niver a wan is found. 



And the only time an Irishman 

Can iver see a snake, 
Is whin he takes la drop too much 

Sure, that is not a fake! 

For Irish boys and Irish girls 

Are full of joy and life 
As anyone can testify 

If he has an Irish wife. 



If you have one, you had best be up 
An* Kiss the "Blarney Stone," 

Or sure, she'll make it lively 
Whin you're late in getting home. 



Sixty-four 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



SALVATION, 1920 



What is happening to our country 

with new strikes every day? 
Serene we stood in brotherhood, 

To all gave right of way. 
Has license cast out liberty 

Since profiteering's come? 
Good government, like charity, 

Begins for all — at home,. 



O native land, O native land, 

Heed thou the falling tear! 
What need have we for ''League" abroad 

When lack of peace is here? 
America, our own dear land 

Is full of wild unrest — 
What canker sore lies hid within 

Our nations throbbing breast. 



Tho' twenty thousand "leagues" were formed 

Of the nations on this earth, 
Each race prefers self-government 

Or feels itself accursed. 
And differences in ways and laws 

Are as old as life of man, 
*Tis only the millenium 

That will change the eternal plan. 



Sixty-five 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



In time of war, all brave good men 

Will answer to the call 
And the race that governs home the best 

Will lead the way for all. 

The lack of food, of clothes, of fuel, 

For wife and child at home, 
Turns men linto wildj human wolves 

Who rage and snarl and foam. 
And why is this thing possible 

In this land of the free? 
America, dear native land, 

Your answer give to me. 

We need an Abraliam Lincoln 

To once more lead the way, 
To light, and life and peace again 

Yes, he could save the day. 
A heart that beats for the oppressed 

And yet is just to all, 
Would guide the helm of state a-right 

And heed the nation's call. 

O Spirit of the Universe, 

Send us a mighty soul, 
To weld in bonds of brotherhood 

Our people as a whole. 
We proved our generous spirit 

To our brothers 'over there*, 
Let us now turn our thoughts to home 

Lest strife will be our share. 



Sixty-six 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



IN NEW YORK STREETS 

In New York streets the children grow 
Amidst the houses, row on row, 
Great caves of stone; and in the cold 
These flowers God sends us from the sky 
Dwell on the streets, their weary cry 
Unheard amidst the rush for gold. 
We are the children of the poor; 
Born in this squalor we endure. 
Christ is our brother, why should we 
Suffer and starve if we are free 
In New York Streets? 

Take up our quarrel with the foe 
The "profiteer" who lays us low; 
To you from baby hands we throw 
The torch. Be yours to hold it high 
For lack of milk and food we die 
'Twas not for this our heroes lie 
In Flanders Fields. 



Sixty-seven 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



REINCARNATION 

I met a stranger on the street, 
We did not stop, we did not speak. 
And well I know, yes I am sure 
That never had we met before. 
Yet in the glance of passing eye, 
I saw true friendships swift reply; 
An aura as of pleasant hours, 
Spent amidst life's choicest bowers. 

O, stranger friend ! I wish I knew 
Which unknown planet held we two. 
What tuneful language pleased the ear 
When we conversed on distant sphere? 
The unknown soul we never meet 
Who passes us upon the street, 
Maybe a former friend of worth 
Who has returned once more to earth. 
In the swift glance of passing eyes 
The chord of memory replies, 
And tunefully sweeps the strings of Time, 
That strikes a melody sublime. 



Sixty-eight 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



A QUESTION 

In memory of K. M. R. 

O Thou who standeth at the gates of Paradise, 
To whom we Hft our sad and tearful eyes 
If this long road which seems so dark and gray 
Should cause us to destroy this useless clay, 
Shall we be doomed now and forever more 
Because we knocked too soon upon Thy door? 



I have been told that with Thee is all light, 

And I am weary of the long, long night — 

The flowers which Thou hast made (and I've been one) 

Cannot endure their life without the sun. 

Therefore because my life hath been so gray. 

Shall I be chided if I seek the day? 



Sixtx-nine 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



YOUTH 



Don't chide me for dancing, Mother, 

Let me sing as I go along, 
For the sky is so fair, the flowers so rare, 

And I feel so well and strong. 

Why, I like eveiy one I see 

For they all seem to smile on me. 
Oh! I've loved this old earth since the day of 
my birth 

And life seems good and free ! 



Seventy 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



INDEPENDENCE DAY 

July the Fourth is drawing near 

Our "Independence Day," 
Let all the population here 

Endeavor to be gay. 

With flags a flying, music playing, 

Crackers flying wild ! 
Our hearts should beat in quicker time 

Like many a happy child. 

Then let us toast those heroes old 

"Who fought to make us free. 
Their deeds still shine as bright as gold 

We cheer them heartily. 

We do not need a monarch's throne 

To raise our noble men — 
Our warriors bold, our heroes old 

Our knights of script and pen. 

"The pen is mightier than the sword" 

A wise man said of old — 
The wisdom of our President 

The national peace shall hold. 

Then shout for old July the Fourth! 

It dearer grows each year. 
Life holds nothing on this earth 

Like the freedom we have here. 

So let us hold it to our hearts 
And keep from Old World strife. 

We'll teach them what God's country's like 
By treasuring human life. 



Seventy-one 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 

THE CASTLE OF PAIN 

A Call For A New Hackensack Hospital 

There stands a castle on a hillside 

Swept by the sun and rain, 
It has sheltered thousands in deep distress, 

I call it, The Castle of Pain. 
Weary and spent with suffering and woe, 

Humanity knocks at the gate. 
Hoping to check the dreaded foe 

And return to mans natural state. 
The castle's chatelaine in spotless white 

Opens the doorway wide, 
While skillful nurses tender and bright, 

The halting footsteps guide. 
The doctors and nurses give their best, 

And their service is not in vain ; 
For thousands have left restored to health 

From their stay at the Castle of Pa'in. 
But now the Castle is old and weak, 

And it needs a new dress of stone; 
Fireproof it must be made. 

And soundproof in every room. 
So to all who love their fellow men, 

Heed the Castle's call; 
"Help to build a New Hospital 

As a refuge for one and all !" 
To you who have money, give all you can 

To rebuild this good Castle of Pain, 
When you help the sick and suffering on earth 

Your life is not lived in vain. 
So make it a shining monument 

To the town of Hackensack, 
And to all the surrounding towns who help, 

The glory will all come back. 



Seventy-two 



A LITTLE BOOK OF AMERICAN VERSE 



THE BERKSHIRE HILLS 

O, have you taken the "Mohawk Trail" 

On a glorious summer morn, 

Where the Berkshire Hills thru a purple veil 

Smile at the radient dawn ? 

Before the day in its raiment gay 

Has flooded the land with sun, 

Comes the Spirit of mist with a fairy kiss 

And awakens the sleeping Dawn. 

The air is so clear that one can hear 

Faint echoes from distant lands, 

While the waving trees, waft the mountain breeze 

A benison from Nature's hands. 

'Great Barrington" with its charming "Inn" 

Where the weary can rest with ease ; 

Old Stockbridge fair whose colonial air 

The most critical eye must please. 

And Lenox the beaudful where Nature joins hands 

With most skillful hands of our race, 

The Garden of Eden could hardly seem fairer 

Than the home of this lovely place. 

Long vistas of poplar trees, stately and tall, 

And gardens a riot of flowers. 

Where in the midst stands a white marble dome, 

Or wonderful gray stone towers. 

Curious monuments left by the Indians, 
And "Twin Lakes" where they fished long ago; 
Are set like sapphires surrounded by emeralds 
Where as jewels, they sparkle and glow. 
As you motor along with the lilt of a song 
Thru the beautiful Berkshire Hills 
Your spirit revives in the air of the morn 
And frees you from all Life's ills. 

Seventy-three 



I 



